Commander Chakotay's voice rang clearly over the shipwide intercom. All hands: decks fourteen and fifteen, sections ten through thirty will be closed today from 1500 to 1600 for scheduled corridor cleaning. Please observe. There will be no admittance to the specified areas except by cleaning crew. In addition, waste recycling is scheduled for tomorrow at 0900. If you have anything extra that could be useful for recycling, please leave it in a covered container and prepared for transport to the waste bin. Chakotay out.

Tom Paris wrinkled his nose. Waste recycling. It's hard to believe that a Federation vessel would ever need to stoop to such a level. His voice was tinged with heavy reproach.

B'Elanna Torres grinned at him from across the table in the mess hall. What's wrong, Paris? Don't like the idea of using your feces to fertilize your food?

Tom's grimace twisted into a much deeper look of disgust. B'Elanna! Please, I'm trying to eat. As if to prove his words, he took a big mouthful of the mashed potatoes on his plate. His love for potatoes was known all over the ship, and this particular plate was his second helping of the day. I don't see why we just don't dump all our waste into space like they do in the Alpha Quadrant, he continued, speaking around the food in his mouth.

Torres' eyebrows rose. So you'd rather have your feces spread across a Kazon ship's scanner array?

Tom grinned. Now there's an idea! Anything's got to be better than using them the way we do.

B'Elanna rolled her eyes. It's a good thing you grew up where you did.

Tom eyed her carefully, his eating utensil stilled on his plate. What's that supposed to mean?

Voyager is not the first environment in the universe bent on reusing everything, she explained patiently. Even on the colony where I grew up, there was no room for queasy stomachs. We used what we had, and that included putting our own manure on the fields and gardens and saving everything, even the humanoid's dead skin cells, for recycling.

Tom's face paled. You saved dead skin?

B'Elanna grinned, thoroughly enjoying herself at the lieutenant's expense. It's amazing how many uses it has.

You're kidding. Right?

B'Elanna shook her head. I'm serious. That's why I suggested to Chakotay that we do the same thing here.

What? Tom's fork fell from his fingers to the plate. That's disgusting! How could Chakotay do that?

Tom, in a gravity based environment, skin cells fall off all humanoid lifeforms. I thought you were smart enough to know that. She cagily studied her hands, which she held up for inspection until she saw the sick curl of Tom's lip. Why do you think Chakotay is so adamant about the corridor cleanings? Either we suck all those dead cells up and dump them in the aeroponics bay, or we let them pile up in the corridors and walk through them for the next 70 years. Which do you prefer?

I prefer neither. Tom looked in renewed revulsion at the remaining food on his plate. I suppose all this recycling includes that baby's diapers? he asked, not really sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Going in for the final play, Torres leaned across the table towards him and whispered, Yes, especially the green ones.

A strange gurgling sound exploded from Paris and he covered his mouth. I'll be in Sickbay - I think I'm going to be sick!

B'Elanna's gleeful laugh followed Tom Paris as he rushed suddenly for the door and disappeared into the corridor.

Chapter 3 || Contents || Chapter 5